


The Life and Death of Sister Frances

by strangestories



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Asylum
Genre: Age Difference, American Horror Story References, Desire, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Falling In Love, Forbidden Romance, POV First Person, Power Dynamics, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Sex, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-23 01:45:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7461750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangestories/pseuds/strangestories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sister Frances is a young novice nun at Briarcliff Manor. Shunned by her peers and dedicated in her life of charity for the poor souls of the mental ward, she is thrown for a loop when Kit Walker (aka Bloody Face) is suddenly brought to Briarcliff and her once peaceful vocation is further changed when the handsome and mysterious Dr. Thredson enters the picture.</p><p>Smut, angst, romance, drama, mystery and an ending you may not see coming. Enjoy and please leave comments if you can. I am hoping to be a published author one day and any and all critique is welcomed!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monday October 26, 1964

October 26, 1964

I just received a beautiful fountain pen and this diary in the mail from my Mother for my twenty seventh birthday. She knows how much I love to read and write and has suggested that I keep notes on my experience here at Briarcliff Manor so that I have something to share when I visit she and Father at Christmas. This is much diverted from the traditional scarf and mittens I receive from them each year at the parish and I am quite excited to start. 

But for tonight I've much to complete and so I will have to start a detailed account of my life tomorrow. 

For now diary I simply say goodnight. 

Frances.


	2. Tuesday October 27, 1964

There is a tap, tap sound from somewhere within my small room and it rouses me from a light sleep. It must be raining today; the small leak in my room always lets me know. I take advantage of my early rising and slowly lower myself from my bed. I grab my clothing and toiletries and begin my slow and silent descent down the inky black corridor outside my room. Its still quiet and calm in Briarcliff at this hour.

There's no screaming or crying. No patients moaning lowly for release. The only sound aside from my slippers is the sound of the clock at the end of the hallway.

The comforting tick of it as I pass. I try to be as silent as possible, slipping down the corridor pretending I am a stealthy jungle cat. My dark hair hangs in loose curls down my back and I know that I mustn't be caught by Sister Jude looking like this. She thinks we should always look prim and proper- even if we've just woken.

The morning prayers won't start for another hour and I walk slowly to the shower at the end of the hall. It opens with a small creak and I step in quickly, closing it behind me and getting undressed. There is a small window, a toilet, a claw foot tub and a small shower. We aren't permitted to use the tub - that's for the senior sisters. We get the shower which is cramped with water that's freezing unless you're the first few to use it- hence my early awakening.

I let my nightgown fall and pool at my bare feet. It feels luxuriously sinful standing here in the cold room completely naked to the world. It's the only time I ever am. There's no mirror, so I can't see what I look like but I assume the sight is pleasing enough. Goosebumps raise on my pale flesh, my nipples pebbling as the cool air hits them. It's so chilly at this time in the morning and I quickly start the shower. It makes a small groaning sound before producing a meagre amount of tepid water.

I step underneath it, relishing its borderline warmth. I soap up quickly, enjoying the slick sensation of soap over my body, washing my hair as fast as possible and smiling slightly. When I'm done washing all over I step out, turning off the faucet and smiling broadly at the sensation of utter cleanliness. I love that post shower feeling where I'm warm and squeaky clean. My skin feels soft and fresh and I sigh, joyful that I am alive and able to enjoy such pleasures.

The towel is quickly around me and I hurriedly dry myself. I can hear the distant sounds of women arising from their cots and this hastens my movements. I quickly pull on my cotton undergarments, the bra pinching slightly as I hurriedly pull it on. Next comes the dark black tights; thick and welcome in this chilly autumn morning. After that is my white shift, slipping over my head and down to my knees.

Then I lower the black habit over my head and tug it over my hips; its goes to my mid-calf and zips up at the back. Its quick uncomfortable but I've gotten used to its constricting fabric. I smooth the white collar at my collarbone, hoping its crisp enough for Jude's standards. Finally I pull the large wooden cross from around my neck, placing it over the collar so that it stands out resolutely.

lean over the sink and start to brush my teeth vigorously. Teeth have always been a point of pride for me, even though mine are nothing to write home about. But if you think about it, teeth are the only thing that look the same when you're dead. When someone smiles at you, they're showing you their skeleton. This morbid thought spurns me onto proper dental hygiene every morning without fail.

After this I pull on my bandeau and black veil, I can already feel the loose tendrils of dark waves that stick out stubbornly at the temples. No matter what I try they manage to sneak their way out. Its not that large a bother; most of the girls have some sort of hair showing whether it be fringe or whatever else. Sister Mary Eunice's blond fringe falls into her eyes constantly and Sister Agnes's corkscrew curls hang wildly out from under her own veil at the crest of her head.

There is a soft knock at the door and I slip on my large, clunky shoes. I open the door with a soft smile and beckon the girl in. Its Sister Mary Joy and she looks exhausted. Large bags under her eyes stick out on her ashen face and she gives me a curt nod as I leave her. I drop my laundry off in the bin next to the door and carry the rest of my items back to my room. Its a very plain white room with a small bed and a large wooden cross above it on the wall.

There is a wash basin on the dresser which holds my minimal belongings and clothing. A hairbrush and a small bible sits beside it and that's it. That's my whole life on one section of a dresser. The thought sometimes depresses me.

Wordlessly I make my way to the chapel of Briarcliff. Its small and holds only twenty people at most. Monsignor Timothy is there looking alert and magnanimous as we make our way inside. The wooden pews always have splinters that catch in our stockings and the ground is cold under our knees as we pray. But we do it with smiles on our young faces because we know all our suffering is for something greater than ourselves.

I glance over to see Sister Jude front and center, looking at Timothy with something akin to awe in her eyes. Its one of the few times I see her when she looks completely relaxed and almost joyful. Most of the time her features are screwed up into irritation or displeasure. Sister Mary Eunice sits beside her, looking eager and slavish as Timothy begins the service. There are ten of us living on the grounds of Briarcliff in our rooms downstairs.

The rest come in each morning on the bus from a nearby parish and are in their late forties. They think us young novice sisters are silly and don't bother much with us. There are five of us novice's - nun's in training. Myself, Sister Doris, Sister Agnes, Sister Joy and Sister Claudette.

There was supposed to be six of us, but one of the girl's (my old roommate Sister Gertrude) fell very sick at the start and had to go home. She was never replaced and I got to keep the room to myself. I know I'm very lucky but at times wish I had a roommate to share my day with or forge some type of friendship with. We are all in our mid twenties and despite having so much in common, none of the other girls and I really get along with.

It's not because they're like Sister Doris. Its more than I'm simply someone who keeps to myself. I don't enjoy the idle gossip of others and my countenance is that of complete seriousness. It's just who I am. The other girls despite being my age seem younger, more flighty. I find it hard to relate to them.

Even know they are sitting beside each other in the pew in front of me, whispering to one another and giggling. Sister Jude shoots them a dark look and they stop. After an hour of prayer and service Timothy does the benediction and then we all stand and return to our rooms for private prayer and reflection. We all kneel beside our cots in our various rooms, holding our rosaries and praying silently for a variety of things.

I try my best to remain focussed, for my love of Jesus knows no bounds, but sometimes my thoughts are drawn to every-day things. Like what it would be like to make money as a secretary and live on my own or what it would be like to have a man hold my hand. I try not to dwell on these thoughts but sometimes they are like a mosquito constantly flying around my head and making me terribly upset.

Sometimes Sister Jude pokes her head into my room to make sure I'm not distracted so I pray ardently, my eyes shut tightly. I believe she hates that I'm a daydreamer. When I hear the shuffling of the other sisters rising from their positions on the floor I know its time to start the day. Most of the women go to their positions at the bakery; Briarcliff is well known for its molasses bread. It's a wonderful outreach program that allows the patients here to give back to society through work placement.

It's one of the major reasons I decided on working here at Briarcliff; because it seemed very progressive. That's what I had thought at the time, anyway. I had stayed for the patients ; their lovely smiles and sweet natures. Yes there were always going to be the ones who were cruel or violent, but they were still God's creatures were they not?

Since it turns out I had no aptitude for baking (despite many weeks of training) I was stationed as a laborer. I knew how to work with tools thanks to my father the builder, so I often found myself doing the odd small repair on bookcases or sweeping the entryway. I enjoy both jobs because it allows me to do something that interacts with others. Whenever I'm fixing bookcases or nailing in old planks on the floor I always have people stopping to watch what I'm doing.

I'm always happy to explain what exactly it is that I'm trying to do. I enjoy speaking with people; understanding how they work. When I sweep the entryway I get to see who is coming and going which admittedly, is quite exciting.

Once we had a celebrity come in; well, maybe not a celebrity like Jimmy Stewart or Marilyn Monroe, but it was Peaches O'Toole from the toothpaste commercial! You probably know the one - where two sisters are doing a toothpaste test? Peaches is the younger sister that uses Crest and she wins the contest. It was quite exciting to see her but I had to pretend she was just like anybody else and direct her upstairs to the administrative office.

I think I mostly enjoy the sweeping of the foyer because when I look up I see Sister Jude's 'stairway to heaven'. The large stained-glass window at the top of a spiraling staircase. It reminds me of something I've read about or seen in some of my old art books. Plus it lets a lot of light into this drafty old place which I really like. Sometimes the darkness feels oppressive.

After a few hours of this its lunch time. Lunch is usually soup and sandwiches which the other girls have prepared. It tastes alright and I never complain, even when they deliberately leave out the meat on my sandwich or my soup is really cold. Sister Doris usually watches me eat and laughs behind her hand with the other girls if I pull a face. I've learned not to show any emotion now when I do things in front of people- it's just easier that way and because of my lack of reaction, they rarely target me anymore.

Sister Doris is Sister Jude's current favorite novice and she knows it. She has pale blonde hair she keeps in a tight bun away from her face under her veil. She looks quite a bit like Doris Day (which is why I think she truly picked the name, though I'd never say so.) Her eyes are an emerald green with luxurious lashes. She also one of the crummiest sisters I've ever met here at Briarcliff.

She comes from a different parish which obviously didn't teach her much about selflessness or kindness and when she arrived at Briarcliff she let us all know that she was in charge. She is short with the patients, cruel in her treatment of other sisters (never in front of sister Jude of course) and all around a malicious monster. Her job is to help the patients eat their meals and socialize with them in the common room; arguably one of the better positions here.

But I see her ignore them and shove the food carelessly into their mouths. I see her turn on a smile for Sister Jude when she arrives and pretends to be angelic. I wonder why she decided to be a nun in the first place because it doesn't seem to fit her.

Sister Mary Eunice gets much the same treatment that I do when Sister Jude isn't around; she's such a teacher's pet that she's continually being mocked despite Jude's favoring of her and being our senior sister here at Briarcliff. She doesn't know how to fake it like me; when they make her lunch cold you can see the little tears that squeeze out the corner of her eyes and down her cheeks. She has a very hard time being bullied. Sometimes I think she's too soft for this world.

After lunch we have recreation time for several hours. Most of the girls go for a walk or enjoy a small nap or go see a film. I usually go to the library on the top floor and read. There are many books that are donated here for the patients, but most of them don't enjoy reading or simply can't.

I love the smell of the older musty books. I think they remind me of my grandfather who lives with my parents and I in our small home in Providence for so many years. After our recreation time we work with the residents in the common room; either helping them take their medication, assisting them in eating their meals or just socializing by playing cards, games or talking about their lives.

We are always encouraged to share the bible with these unfortunates, telling them of the love of God. Father Timothy thinks it very important that the patients have this kind of stimulation and I agree wholeheartedly.

After that we enjoy dinner and then individual time in our rooms for prayer and reflection. I take off my habit and hang it up and prepare for the next morning where I will repeat this routine. Tomorrow will be more of the same.

And this is how my life will go on, day after day until I finally die.

 

\- Frances


	3. Wednesday October 28, 1964

There is an air of excitement today at Briarcliff! I could feel it as soon as I came into the chapel for morning prayers.

Sister Jude shot me a meaningful glance that me know that my late arrival had been noted. I wonder if I'll get the corporal punishment she so covets. I wince thinking about those harsh paddles she has in her closet. There is an air of excitement however and I am eager to learn of why. After morning prayers and reflection we headed down for breakfast. Sister Jude stalked off to her office in a bad mood as per usual.

On our way down the corridor to the common room Sister Mary Eunice suddenly blurted out that a young man named Kit Walker will be admitted today. No one seemed to care and she blushed deeply. I feel sympathy for her sometimes as it seems she simply cannot keep her mouth in check. We all know how she desires Jude's approval and she's become quite an annoying teacher's pet trying to order the rest of us about.

This upsets the other girls but I don't pay much notice. I too am on the fringes of this tight knit group of six novice nuns. Often there are late night talks, going out to films, and more with the main four. I'm never invited. I don't know why. I can only assume it's because I'm a more serious sort. I don't smile much and my pale face and dark features give me a severe look I assume. I'm also a few years older than my twenty-five-year-old counterparts.I wonder how they could have felt a calling to this line of life so early in their short lives. Mine had been a gradual realization.

The only other person close to me in age is sister Mary Eunice, but she's far too busy kissing Jude's feet to ever build a friendship with. But as she trudged down the hallway looking defeated at the girl's lack of interest I felt I had to say something.

"Who is Kit Walker?"

Sister perked immediately, her blonde hair falling into her light eyes.

"He's Bloody Face!"

At this the rest of the young sisters stop in their tracks. Even I must admit to being intrigued. We had all been following the bloody face murders in the papers. The life of a nun is a quiet and sometimes dull one. Things like serial killers do something to break the monotony though we'd never admit it.

Sister Agnes turns around, her freckles standing out against her doughy flesh. She is quite large and her voice sounds as if she can only breathe through her mouth.

"The one who killed those girls?" she asks nasally. "The secretary and the librarian and the colored girl?"

"Is it true that he skinned them alive?" Sister Monica inquired, her large grey eyes filling with worried tears. Sister Monica is a small girl with ash black hair and the largest eyes you've ever seen hidden behind large oval spectacles. She's always on the verge of crying and she always looks like a wounded owl no matter what.

"Yes and yes!" Sister Mary Eunice's nods merrily, overjoyed have something to entertain the rest of the girls.

She is almost bouncing around with joy at this morbidity and I internally note that she is much darker than I gave her credit for. Doris is standing there with a sour expression on her face, her hands on her clothed hips. She is likely unimpressed that she didn't get to regale the group with this information herself.

"How do you know this?" Sister Doris asks. "How do we know you're not just saying this for attention?"

Sister Agnes and Sister Monica laugh behind their hands daintily and I see sister Mary Eunice's cheeks flush. I sigh heavily inward, not wanting to cause a rift but not content to see poor Mary Eunice continually mocked.

"What time does he arrive?" I break in, ignoring Doris' glare in my direction.

Mary Eunice shoots me a grateful look and continues.

"He should be here this afternoon," she glances around the barren hallway before dropping her voice, causing us all to lean in slightly. "And there's a doctor coming as well to make sure he's fit to stand trial. A psychiatrist."

"Pffft, a head shrinker," Doris says with a scoff. "They're terrible. What has Sister Jude always said? Mental illness is a fashionable explanation for sin."

I don't completely agree with this statement, but I have little else to add to the discussion so I shrug my shoulders and continue down the hall. The rest of the girls are talking amongst themselves, even including Mary Eunice in their little circle of gossip. I'm happy that she has found a reprieve from the cruelty usually bestowed upon her. We make our way through the maze of hallways until we end up in the foyer.

Agnes and Monica head off to the bakery, Doris to the common room and Mary Eunice heads off to find Sister Jude to see what she can accomplish today. I've been instructed to make the foyer and front stairs presentable and now I know why. There will likely be a deluge of reporters and media here for the arrival of Kit Walker and they want to make sure it looks perfect. I decide to start outside first, grasping a large metal bucket and filling it with water at the nearby hose.

Its heavy and I grunt lowly as I trundle to the bottom of the steps. I watch as Pepper chasing a butterfly nearby and smile gently. She's such a lovely creature and it's hard to believe she would kill her sister's baby. As I watch her crooked smile and deformed hands grasping at the life fluttering around I wonder if she wishes she could be like that butterfly; to shirk off her clumsy exterior and emerge beautiful and free.

I notice out of the corner of my eyes as I begin mopping a slim woman with dark hair in a fashionable cut. She is dressed lovely in a two piece suit and I wonder what it must be like to be her. She looks so confident and beautiful; like something out of a magazine. She starts suddenly as Pepper grasps her shoulders, insisting she play. She smiles gently at Pepper, taking a rose from her extended hand.

I mop quickly, seeing that Mary Eunice is coming down the steps looking irritated.

"Pepper, leave the lady alone!"

The two women speak lowly and I cannot hear what they're saying before they come striding up the stairs. Mary Eunice has that forced look of authority on her features which I despise. She always tries so hard to be something that she's not and currently she's trying to be officious like Sister Jude but she's coming off as brusque and rude. The fashionable woman holding the flower glances at me as she passes, giving me a small nod of hello before walking into Briarcliff Manor.

I hope for her sake that her visit is a short one. Most visitors can't stomach being in here for too long - they find it upsetting. They don't realize that the mentally ill don't just die off somewhere; they need somewhere to live and receive treatment.

I've mopped and swept outside until luncheon. I eat hurriedly and am ordered by Sister Mary Eunice to pay special attention to the foyer floors because she found mud tracked in last night and that will upset Sister Jude. I don't have the heart to tell her that it was Doris being cruel and so I nod, telling her I'll do so.

After lunch I hurry back and move into the foyer to do as she's asked. I'm still sweeping rapidly when the first car arrives.

A man with a large camera starts heading in the front doors but is intercepted by Monsignor Timothy who already looks beleaguered at the sight of the man. He instructs that he's not to come inside and the man relents. Sister Mary Eunice rushes down after him, looking like a lost puppy until he orders her upstairs to tell Sister Jude that Kit Walker is about to arrive. Soon enough there is a crowd of people with cameras and notebooks.

Sister Agnes and Monica come rushing into the foyer, their cheeks pink. Some of the male orderlies have already gone outside to the stairs, standing and waiting the new arrival. Doris saunters in moments later, smoothing her habit and trying to appear as nonplussed as possible. But everyone is excited for this; the cameras, the attention, the novelty of the moment!

"Everyone outside," Monsignor Timothy says, looking to all of us at once. "We need to be out there as a united front. When people see Briarcliff I want them to see your shining faces and your pure hearts. Do not answer any of their questions. Go out onto the steps and await my orders. Several of the visiting nuns have decided to be present for this, stay close to them and follow their orders."

The pretty woman from before rushes down the staircase suddenly, her heels clacking with every step and ignoring me as she rushes to join the mob of people. The rest of the sisters are outside, standing on the steps and trying to see what this bloody face looks like. I faltered a moment, unsure if I wanted to see this creature up close. From what I'd read he'd been seen wearing a mask made of human skin! Who on earth would want to be present for that?

"Now now," Timothy said with a gentle push towards the door. "You too Sister Frances."

I nod, gulping slightly as I put the broom away. I smooth down my habit, hoping that I look presentable and idly tap the cross at my chest. I say a small prayer and then I step out into the chaos. People are yelling and trying to get everyone to talk, but the staff at Briarcliff are silent. Everyone is bumping into one another and the girls are trying not to squeal with anticipation.

I myself feel rather sick and decide to duck between two of the visiting nuns - a dark haired woman of about fifty and sixty respectively and nestle myself behind the pretty woman from before. She has a notebook and is scribbling furiously. I had no idea she was a reporter. The air has a chill to it and I shiver involuntarily; is it from the cold or the anticipation of seeing a murdering maniac up close? I can't say.

I idly wonder where Sister Jude is when I see the long, black car pulling into the driveway. There's even more chaos, more yelling and screaming as the doors open. We workers of Briarcliff are doing remarkably well at being staid and calm, but I cannot deny my fear at what awaits us inside that vehicle.

What will Bloody Face look like?

I imagine I'll see a hulking brute with missing teeth and long greasy hair. I assume he'll be almost seven feet tall with a scratchy beard and talon-like nails. When I see the individual they drag from the back of the vehicle I'm stunned.

Its a young man of no more than twenty-five. He has a young, boyish face. His hair is respectable and his look is that of a confused young child lost somewhere at sea. He looks to be near tears and he winces as they drag him up the stairs in his shackles.

Sister Mary Eunice and Doctor Arden stand at the top of the stairs, the latter looking nervously at me before looking back to this Kit Walker. Reporters are shouting things at him and he's ignoring them, looking exhausted and in pain. I feel my heart reach out to him, my gaze falling over his poor pale face.

As if he can feel it he turns his head, glancing over at me hiding behind the reporter and I duck my head, feeling my heart beat madly in my chest.

I don't know why, but his eyes unsettled me. Sister Jude exits the manor, looking down at Kit with scorn before he's ushered into the mouth of the building, devoured by its inhabitants. Then there is quiet. The reporters having gotten nothing of interest aside from some photos decide that its best that they leave. They take their time gabbing to one another before one by one they leave the steps.

It's a complete mess by the time they leave with garbage and footprints all over the steps I spent all morning cleaning. I sigh deeply, knowing that I need to have this mess cleaned up immediately. The orderlies and the rest of the sisters and nuns walk into the building, leaving me standing out in the cold. I know I should get back to work quickly, but the entire afternoon has seemed like a strange, long dream.

I take a moment to close my eyes and breathe in the crisp autumn air but I can feel the encroaching darkness like a shadow, warning me to finish my work before dinner. I put my hands to my lower back and stretch it gently. Then I hop up the stairs to retrieve the dented bucket and mop and begin my task ardently once more.

I start humming to myself a bit, keeping my spirits up as I continue the work. I'm thankful it's not raining out as it often does. I try to look on the bright side of things. I am a twenty-seven-year-old Sister who has the security of a fine parish and vocation.

It may not be much but it suits me fine. Only...sometimes it doesn't.

\- Frances


	4. Thursday October 29, 1964

I didn't sleep very well last night. I kept having these horrible dreams but I can't actually remember what they were about.

I know Sister Jude and Mary Eunice retired to their rooms late last night as I could hear them muttering to one another as they walked down the corridor. Sister Mary Eunice was sniffling loudly and Jude was reprimanding her. I couldn't seem to fall back asleep for hours. There is almost a subconscious itch in the back of my mind, not allowing me to calm down or focus properly. It's a strange fear I can't quite place.

I wash and dress quickly this morning, stretching and saying my morning prayers. I look to this little diary sitting on my dresser and smile. It's nice to have a few things that are just mine.

Breakfast is a moody, silent affair. It seems most of the other Sisters didn't get much sleep either. Combined with the gentle tapping of the rain on the windows, the entire air is that of gloomy fatigue. I'm instructed to sweep up the foyer this morning. Not surprisingly, with all the reporters the entire entryway of Briarcliff is a complete mess.

Sister Jude was quick to point out that I did a poor job, ignoring the hordes of people that trampled around inside trying to get a glimpse of Kit Walker. I remain silent about that. There are few things more useless in this world than opposing anything Sister Jude has to say when she believes herself to be right.

I slowly traipse down to the foyer after breakfast, broom in hand humming to myself. I see Sister Mary Eunice as I'm coming down, her eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. I feel a pang of empathy as I look into her miserable visage.

"Are you alright, Sister?"

Mary Eunice looks surprised to see anyone standing there on the steps and she gives me a shaky smile.

"Just fine."

I cock my head slightly, my eyebrows raised. I know that she's not telling the truth and I let my body language tell her as much. Out of all the women here she knows I am her only potential ally. She looks at me and sighs softly, her eyes filling with fresh tears.

"You mustn't repeat what I say to anyone," Mary Eunice whispers, glancing furtively around her to make sure that we are alone before her eyes settle on me. "I was out in the woods doing a task for Doctor Arden."

Doctor Arden is our resident medical doctor here. He worked at Briarcliff when it was nothing more than a tuberculosis clinic. He is a tall, severe looking man with a shining bald head, white goatee and pinched features. He smiles at us and wishes us a good day but most of us are still wary around him. It's almost as if his genteel attitude is a cover for something much more malicious. He is often found in his office and laboratory downstairs - most of us have never seen it (myself included) but he spends hours there conducting research.

Mary Eunice is always doing 'tasks' for him, bragging about his brilliance later on during meals much to Sister Jude's displeasure. Sister Mary Eunice never really tells us what these tasks are but she's always the first to boast that she has to go help him whenever he crooks his finger.

"And that woman from yesterday, the reporter, Lana Winters. She got into the men's ward," Mary Eunice continues dejectedly. "Because of me."

She trails off as one of the other sisters walks by us on the staircase, heading for the kitchen. We give a small nod to her as she continues past. She doesn't notice that Sister Mary Eunice's countenance has suddenly slumped, her eyes growing glazed. She seems to fold into herself, her voice shrinking and sad.

"I put Briarcliff at risk. All of Monsignor's good work," Mary Eunice finally says. "I'm so weak."

"You mustn't be so hard on yourself," I tell her, patting her arm gently.

She gives me a grateful smile before wiping her eyes resolutely. Sometimes Mary Eunice infuriates me with her slavish devotion to Jude and Arden, but at times like this I see and remember that she is just a young, scared and lost young woman like the rest of us.

"Well, I'm off to the common room," she says suddenly. feigning cheer. "Sister Jude wants me to lead the bible study today and I don't want to leave them waiting."

I nod, watching her dash off to the common room, her shoes making a loud clacking noise. I slowly make my way into the foyer, realizing that its quite empty now aside from One of the guards that sits at the front door during the day - Sampson. He's a middle aged man of short stature. He has a pleasant face that is usually puffing away on a cigarette. But he's usually sleeping (like he is now). No one really tries to escape here at Briarcliff - all the patients are usually watched like hawks in the first place. But I suppose it's good to have preventative measures in place.

I start sweeping, still humming to myself an absent tune. My attention is drawn out the door windows and I recall yesterday. The haunted look in the young man's eyes as he was dragged up those very steps. Him, Bloody Face? I can scarcely believe it. I have a heart that is quick to compassion and I believe I can truly read people. That boy didn't seem a hardened criminal, if anything he looked alone and terrified.

I look back to the floor, working until the sweeping is finished. I place the broom away in the small closet at the landing and move for the broom and bucket. I drag the bucket to the hose outside beside the steps, shivering slightly in the chill. Despite the thick fabric of my habit, the weather is biting. The water comes out slowly, barely making a dent after several seconds+ Its often like this in the colder weather. I want to fill the bucket in the lavatory or somewhere inside but Jude claims its unsanitary. I think she just likes to punish me for fun at times.

"Excuse me," comes a deep voice from behind me. "I'm looking for Monsignor Timothy Howard."

I jump back at the sound of the voice, knocking over the bucket at my feet. It topples with a clang, spilling the water everywhere and soaking my feet and tights. I tsk under my breath, bending down to right it once more and glancing at the pair of tall legs to my right. I reposition the bucket once more and prepare to fill it again, my back to the stranger.

"I apologize," comes a smooth and even tone. "I didn't mean to startle you."

I am instantly irritated at the tall man behind me. I don't even look at his face but I know he's still behind me, staring. I blame my moody disposition on my lack of sleep and so I am too slow in holding my tongue.

"If you're here for interviews around the Bloody Face case, we're not giving them," I snipe frustrated at the intrusion, brushing a strand of hair that's fallen into my eyes and shaking my soaking wet feet dramatically. "This is a private institution for the mentally ill, not a freak show."

"Yes," comes that same deep baritone, "That's actually why I'm here."

At the cool, calm tone of his voice I finally glance up at his face. I'm a bit taken aback at the sight of him. He doesn't look like any reporter I've seen. He looks much too put together for that; an academic.

His hair is inky black and glossed back from his pale face. His eyes are dark and glittery behind large glasses. His lashes are thick and dark and his mouth is full and curved into a bemused smile. He's tall and lean and his suit is expertly tailored to his form and I note suddenly that he's holding a fairly large satchel.

My stomach sinks and I realize he's not a reporter at all. He stands there in front of me, looking amused at the sudden flush on my cheeks. I trip over my words trying to speak next.

"You're the-the psychiatrist," I utter with a furrow of my brows. I feel idiotic and even though my eyes are closed in humiliation I can feel his gaze on me. "Sent by the courts."

"I am," he says lowly. "Doctor Oliver Thredson."

Oliver Thredson. I have to admit that he's quite handsome in the classical sense, even though acknowledging this will make for double the prayers tonight. His hands are pale and slender and soft looking and his watch ticks gently against his wrist. I realize I'm just staring at him in silence and this makes me get flustered all over again. I'm not used to outside male company, especially not the handsome, well-educated kind.

"Oh no," I say, pressing a hand to my cheek in mortification. "I'm so terribly sorry."

He gives a small chuckle under his breath and shakes his head, I notice that he doesn't really smile with his teeth and I wonder if he ever does. Standing this close to him I cannot help but observe that he smells delightful, like an aftershave I almost remember from my past life. He towers over me and I have to look up slightly to see his face.

"It's quite all right," he says. "I'm sure you've had quite the overwhelming twenty-four-hours what with the media circus."

"We have," I agree with a nod. "We don't normally have that many people at once here."

We lapse into silence and I can feel the Doctor looking at me, studying me. I am no great beauty, but it doesn't mean that I'm impervious to the looks of men. I know that I look strange in my habit and my pale face and dark features. I know that the large wooden cross that hangs between my bosom seems like an archaic symbol for a man who has his doctorate in Science. I glance back up to see him looking to me expectantly.

"Oh of course," I say in a rush, my face coloring as I reach for the bucket handle and motion for him to follow me. "I'll take you to Monsignor Howard right away."

"Thank you."

Before I can act he's grasped the sloshing bucket with his left hand, hoisting it up and following me up the stairs. He follows closely behind me, so close I can almost feel his shoulder against mine when we get to the front door and he lowers the bucket. I pause when we reach the double doors, unsure if I should let him go in ahead of me. He is the guest after all and I want to make a good impression.

He opens it gallantly before pressing his hand to the small of my back to guide me inside. I feel a thrill go through me at the contact of his hand and I internally chastise myself. I'm so unused to male contact that I feel out of sorts.

Our shoes clamor along the cold stone of the floor and I feel myself wanting to say something, anything to break the silence. He seems gentle and kind and like he has a rich and interesting life.

We come to the bottom of the long staircase and before we make the descent upwards he stops his movements, taking out a cigarette and lighting it quickly. He looks at me with an inscrutable look before he speaks, removing the cigarette slowly from between his lips.

"What was your name, Sister?"

I'm about to reply when Sister Doris comes rushing down the stairs, looking beautiful and radiant as ever. She smiles winningly at Dr. Thredson before she makes her way down the stairs. She looks like something out of an Audrey Hepburn film sashaying her way down, the lights from above illuminating her and I know that beside her I am simply a worm among roses. I slowly back away, watching the scene play out before me.

She stops at the step above Dr. Thredson, looking down at him with an angelic smile. She holds out a hand in welcome and he glances up at her.

"You must be Doctor Thredson," Sister Doris says with a saccharine grin. She always knows the right things to say and how to say them. "Monsignor Timothy is very busy right now so I've been instructed to take you to your temporary office."

Dr. Thredson nods at her, shaking her hand briefly before following her up the stairs towards the office. I bite the inside of my cheek absently before making my way back to the bucket and mop that await me. I can feel as Dr. Thredson casts a look backwards as he walks up but I pretend not to notice.

There's no point making friends with him anyway, he won't be here for long.

 

\- Frances


	5. Friday October 30, 1964 - Morning

Friday October 30th, 1964- Morning

The rumors are running rampant through Briarcliff Manor. Apparently the reporter Mary Eunice had mentioned last night is named Lana Winters and she is a homosexual. Sister Jude informed us last night in the dormatories to have minimal contact with her because she is prone to violent outbursts.

I mentally make a note to stay as far away from her as physically possible.

I had a horrible sleep again last night, waking sweaty and disoriented. I don't know what was clouding my dream but it has upset me leaving me feeling wound up and not like myself at all. I am late for breakfast and Doris and Agnes and I are the last ones left in the small dining room we Sisters share. I groan inwardly before grabbing some oatmeal and joining them at the only table in the room.

Doris ignores me in her usual way and it is no small miracle. I keep my head down, thankful for the reprieve of her cruelty.

"The new psychologist is here," she starts out of nowhere, her face pulled into an expression of glee. She's mixing cream into her oatmeal, the steam from her meal gently swaying upwards as she speaks. "And he's terribly handsome."

Sister Agnes pipes up, some wayward oatmeal stuck to the side of her cheek. She's looking to Doris as if she's in awe of her superhuman abilities.

"You mean you've met him?"

Doris is beaming, loving the attention being drawn to her over this small occurrence. I don't bother telling Agnes that I had in fact met Dr. Thredson first; had spoken to him and showed him into Briarcliff. What would be the point? Let Doris believe she was the unique and oh-so-special one.

"I showed him to his office yesterday," Doris continued with a broad smile. "He's quite serious of course. But he and I spoke for a while as he got settled."

Doris gave me an unreadable look then and a horrible thought occurrs to me. If Doris and the Doctor were talking there was a very good chance he had mentioned our altercation. He undoubtedly commented on how I had mistaken him for a reporter and was unforgivably rude. I can almost feel Sister Jude's switch on my bare flesh and I shudder. Doris is looking back at Agnes, talking about the Doctor's hairstyle of all things when I interrupt.

"Did he say anything to you?" My face is draining of color at the thought. "About me?"

I'm terrified at the thought that he has ratted me out to Doris of all people. Doris glances over to me with a bored expression; her full lips curled into a look of subtle disgust before she gives a mirthless chuckle.

"Why on earth would he talk about you?"

I feel the fear slowly leave my body, relaxing my muscles instantly. If he had spoken to Doris about my rudeness there is no way she would have let it go. She would have been like a dog with a bone and gone right to Sister Jude.

"Nothing," I say with a small relieved smile. "No reason."

I can feel Doris staring at me a moment before she looks back to Agnes, her voice animated and her hands all over the place.

"He's so tall and he dresses so wonderfully."

For some reason all her boasting has gotten on my last nerve and Agnes staring at her like the second coming is doing little to quell this irritation. Doctor Thredson is just a human male. Why this should be such a revelation is beyond me because if anything he seemed a bit dull.

"We shouldn't dwell on such things," I offer primly. I stand taking my dish to the counter and scrubbing the remainder of my oatmeal out in the sink. I can hear Doris whisper something to Agnes about me and the two giggle.

I know they're likely commenting on my old-fashioned views on such things. It's really not right for us to focus on such mortal desires. Our lives are devoted to God and the servitude of others. To openly acknowledge the physical beauty of Doctor Thredson is strictly verboten. Most of the girls know this, but on occasion our true human nature does slip.

"Perhaps Sister Frances is a bit more Sapphic than she lets on," Agnes sneers.

"That's a lie," I reply calmly, not letting her words get under my skin. I know they're trying to bait me. Doris is irritated that I met Thredson first but can't admit it.

However, I feel a blush of embarrassment rise to my cheeks and I leave the two girls and go to the chapel. I sit next to a very sleepy looking Sister Mary Eunice. She seems distracted and offers me a soft 'hello' before closing her eyes.

Within moments we have all arrived and our eyes are fixated forward as Father Timothy blesses us and has a short benediction. When he is almost finished he brings up

"You will note that there are several new individual among us," Monsignor Timothy says gently; his voice always like that of a leaf underfoot on a crisp autumn day. "A charge, Kit Walker and A Doctor Thredson. Both are involved in the upcoming trial. "

"He should be locked up," Sister Agnes mutters, garnering a harsh look from Jude who glances over from her seat in the front pew. Sister Jude could hear a fly sneeze as far as I'm concerned. Her ears are always attuned to impropriety.

"As I was saying," Timothy continued unmoved by Agnes' mutterings. "Dr. Thredson will be here to determine if Kit Walker is fit to stand trial. As daughters of Christ I know you will show kindness and patience with all of our charges here. Despite their illness and actions they are still all God's creatures and it is your duty to care for them. And I know you will assist Doctor Thredson in any way you can."

I could see Doris sitting up straight in her pew ahead of mine, her head tilted to the side cockily. She was already nominating herself as Doctor Thredson's in-house assistant. I rolled my eyes gently as I looked to the front of the room.

Timothy looked over to Jude seated in the front pew and gave a short nod. She smiles gently back, rising and brushing off her habit absently. Sister Jude comes to stand beside him at the altar looking wan and irritated. She will be delivering the morning's work assignments.

"The common room is being used from two to four this afternoon for Doctor Thredson to conduct his initial assessment of Kit Walker," Jude continues sounding bored already. "Please be sure that the charges are appropriate during that meeting. If any are distressed see that they are moved immediately."

Sister Doris raises her hand like an over-eager student. Jude smiles gently and nods to her.

"Sister Doris."

"Why doesn't he use his office?" Doris asks gently, her head slightly bowed as if she finds Jude's mere presence overwhelming.

"That's none of your concern," Jude says, her face darkening. I try not to smile. It's not often that Doris gets a stern look from Jude and when it does happen its always joyful. I glance over and see that Sister Mary Eunice is trying to school her features as well. I know why they have Kit walker's assessment in the common room; it's to see how he interacts with the other patients. I'm surprised that the ever-perfect Doris hasn't realized that.

"Sisters Agnes, Doris and Monica you will be on kitchen duty this morning," Sister Jude continues. "Be sure to pay close attention to the charges today. Yesterday we had that hulking brute Daniel nearly upset an entire tray of bread. A whole mornings work!"

I feel sorry for so many of the charges, but none like I do for Daniel. He is a deaf-mute who rarely seems to be of this world. Daniel is by all accounts a beautiful young man, quite possibly the most beautiful man I have ever seen. He doesn't look like he belongs at Briarcliff as a charge at all.

Even Sister Doris and Monica act strangely around him when they pass him in the common room. He is tall with beautiful golden locks that hang just above his broad shoulders, with bright brown eyes, a full mouth and a taut frame that seems coiled in anticipation. I have only seen him a few times because he keeps mainly to himself. I don't blame him. Everyone stares at him and since he has very few ways of communicating he is likely more isolated than most.

I am not permitted to know his full diagnosis or what brought him to Briarcliff but I am very intrigued.

"Sister Mary Eunice you have been requested by Dr. Arden this morning," Jude says in a tone of disapproval. It's plain to all of us that she despises Doctor Arden and has for as long as we've been here. I feel Sister Mary Eunice tense up beside me. Whether it's from anticipation or fear I cannot tell. I am barely listening to Jude rambling until I hear my own name being called. "Sister Frances will be on library duty. There are a few loose shelves that need your attention as well as the donations to be sorted. As always return your tools immediately upon finishing."

She motions to the toolbox at her right and I nod. I know the importance of returning the tools when working in a mad-house. A forgotten screwdriver could mean the difference of life and death within here. I am listening distractedly as she drones on with the rest of the work orders. Soon she is finished and Timothy has blessed us and our morning work. I quickly retrieve the toolbox from beside the front pew and head to the back of the chapel's doors.

"A regular grease money," Doris whispers to Sister Monica and the two giggle behind their hands.Sister Jude is too caught up in a conversation with Monsignor Timothy to notice.

I shrug off their comment and head with Sister Mary Eunice out of the chapel and towards the staircase. We are both people who keep to ourselves in general, although sometimes Mary Eunice gets carried away with a certain topic and can't stop talking. Today however she is quiet and thoughtful and I wonder if her mind is preoccupied with helping Arden.

"Sister may I ask you something?" I venture quietly between us. Mary Eunice looks over to me in surprise.

"Of course."

"What exactly do you do for Doctor Arden?"

Mary Eunice blanches, unsure of what to say. I immediately feel guilty for making her so distressed and yet am concerned at what goes on between them to give her such a reaction. "Just assisting in experiments," she finally answers in just above a whisper, brushing a strand of hair behind her veil.

"I gather his tools or clean the tables. Just simple things to make his day easier."

I think about this a moment. It makes sense that Doctor Arden would require her assistance on such matters considering how busy he is. Still Mary Eunice looks like a bundle of nerves beside me as we reach the bottom of the staircase.

"Do you enjoy it?"

"Oh yes," Mary Eunice replies enthusiastically. Her face is alight and I can see no trace of falsehood within it and so I am satisfied.

"Good," I say with a resolute nod.

I am heading up to the library and she down to Arden's office and so we bid each other a gentle goodbye before I climb the stairs quickly two at a time. I don't know that I believe Sister Mary Eunice, but I trust that if necessary she could come to speak with me.

I open the door to the library with a low creak before popping my head inside. Not surprisingly there is no one here and I smile to myself, ready to get to work. Library duty is one of my favorite tasks. I love working with the tools and being around the books. It's so quiet and peaceful up there and the smell of books is usually a comfort. Sometimes it feels like my own little paradise which is why I'm often here during my break anyway.

I don't know if you could really call it a library. It's a small, dark room with two small windows. There are two sitting chairs and several large bookshelves along the walls that hold only a few books on each shelf. Jude is very particular about what she'll deem as appropriate here.

Since Briarcliff is run on the donations of the public we have to make do with what we have in terms of furniture. Usually donations of bookcases come to us in such a state of disrepair it takes me several days to fix them. Sometimes we donate these fixed units to the community or local orphanage. But luckily it's just a loose shelf or two in one of our old units today. I unpack the hammer and nails and get to work.

Its over before I know it and I know I should start on the next task quickly; sorting the book donations at my feet. But the lack of sleep these past few days have me feeing wreckless and exhausted. So instead I glance furtively around the room and make sure I am alone before I lower myself into one of the seats and sink into it comfortably. Minutes later I hear a short scream from several levels down and I jump to a standing position, concerned I've been asleep a long time. I glance up at the large clock and see relieved that it's only been twenty minutes.

I stretch, thankful for the speeding up of my day and go over to the stack of books to unload. Every month we receive a small box of donated books for the sisters and the charges here from various libraries and book stores. Very few of the charges can read and so we read to them during our shifts with them. This means that Sister Jude has already gone through the box to see what is appropriate for us to be reading before dumping them here for me to shelve.

I pull out the tomes quickly shelving them in alphabetical order. They usually gets mixed about within two weeks (part of me is convinced that its Doris' doing) and I have to rearranged them at least twice a month. I don't mind however, I welcome the change in pace.

I come to the bottom of the box and am surprised to see a small paperback wedged between the side and bottom of the box. The color blends into the box so well I barely even noticed it. I reach down and gently pry it from its stubborn hiding spot before turning it over and reading the title.

_Lady Chatterley's Lover._

It's a slim, pale book with the faded grey image of a beautifully drawn bird over an intricate nest. I almost didn't see it wedged down in the side of the box and a part of me wonders if Jude did either. I've never heard of the book but I'm surprised that Jude would have approved something like this considering its title and I'm quite positive she's overlooked it just as I almost did. But I suppose I shouldn't judge a book by its cover.

I glance around me to see I am still alone because I feel as if I am being watched. Obviously I am imagining it because I am indeed alone in this small room. I know I shouldn't read the book in my shaking hands, but I feel compelled. And so I stand there in front of the bookcase and crack the book open slowly, stopping on a page at random. The words jump out at me as slapping me across the face roughly.

" _He too had bared the front part of his body and she felt his naked flesh against her as he came into her. For a moment he was still inside her, turgid there and quivering_."

Diary I am ashamed at the emotions that overtook me at those words. These skillful, beautiful and sinful words. I have never known a man in the marital sense or even in the dating sense. But I knew that the author was describing the most intimate of acts. I wanted to stop reading but a throbbing had begun in my body that demanded I continue. I was utterly absorbed.

" _Then as he began to move, in the sudden helpless orgasm, there awoke in her new strange thrills rippling inside her. Rippling, rippling, rippling, like a flapping overlapping of soft flames, soft as feathers, running to points of brilliance, exquisite and melting her all molten inside. It was like bells rippling up and up to a culmination-"_

"Ah, Sister."

At the sound of the deep voice I drop the book I'm holding as if it's on fire and it falls to the ground with a loud thump.

My cheeks redden and I feel my eyes widen as I turn to see Doctor Thredson glancing at me with an unknowable expression. He's standing in a dark suit across the room, a large briefcase at his feet. Did I not hear him come in? He walks over slowly until he's inches from me before bending over.

I can only watch the back of his dark head as he descends. He grasps the book in his hands and I feel new mortification overtaking my body as I realize he's reading the title. He slowly straightens, and he is at least a foot taller than me. I have to glance up to see his face as he hands me the book with a queer look on his features. I pray he hasn't read this book before.

"Thank you," I say quietly as I hug the book to my chest like a shield. I'm terrified that someone will see me talking with him. That Jude will think I've sought him out and am pestering him. I wince at the thought of what punishment would await me.

"I'm sorry I never caught your name," he says gently.

I can feel myself trembling slightly. I am very rarely alone in the company of men, not counting the fatherly Monsignor Timothy. This Thredson is from the outside world, a man of secular life and despite continual warnings from Sister Jude to keep holy and focus on my own life's glory, I wonder what Doctor Thredson's life is like. I feel my eyes being drawn into his gaze and despite everything in me telling me to bow and leave the room, I can't help but want the moment to continue.

"Frances," I finally say quickly. "Sister Frances."

He looks at me for a moment with a pondering expression. I can see my face reflected lightly in the lens of his glasses and I look terrified. His lips are pursed in thought and I notice that up close he is clean shaven, quite pale and delicate looking save for the heavy brow that resides behind his frames.

"As in Francis of Assisi?" he asks finally, surprising me with his religious knowledge.

"No," I say with a shake of my head at the misconception. "I know many of the Sisters here choose new names upon entry to the Sisterhood, but I kept mine. It didn't feel right to leave it behind in my old life when it served me so well."

"Interesting," Doctor Thredson says with a nod. He looks like he's about to say something further when I blurt out the words that have been at the forefront of my mind since I saw him in this library.

"Did you happen to mention our meeting to anyone, Doctor?" Thredson looks confused by my remark and his dark brows furrow at the inquiry. "What do you mean exactly?"

"My rudeness," I say with a flush. "It's one of my many faults. I'm quick to anger and my tongue is even quicker. I wonder if you spoke to Sister Jude about it."

Thredson nods as if understanding my questioning now. He looks almost amused at my worried expression. His hands are in his pockets and he shifts from one foot to the other absently.

"No I haven't and I never would have brought it up. Honestly, I haven't even met Sister Jude yet," Thredson says comfortingly. "Just a few of the novice's and my patient."

"Kit Walker?" I say impetuously. "Bloody Face?"

Thredson is silent, peering into my face with those dark eyes of his. He feels other-worldly to me. It reminds me of my favorite book, Jane Eyre. When Rochester is describing Jane as a someone who rather has the look of another world about them. This is how I feel about Doctor Oliver Thredson. He doesn't look like any man I have ever met. Sister Jude insisted I stop reading Jane Eyre, claiming that its take on morality was corrupt.

"I was just on my way to the common room," Thredson continues, ignoring my question. "But I seem to have gotten turned around. Can you show me where it is?"

I recall Monsignor Timothy's words this morning. To assist Doctor Thredson in any way he may need. I'm sure that would count in taking time out of my break to show him where the common room is. I put the heavy book back onto the bookshelf and turn back, smiling politely.

"Of course, follow me."

Thredson retrieves his briefcase before he follows quickly beside me, his shoulder bumping into mine just as it had on the steps a day earlier. I open the door to the library and we descend down the first flight of stairs, not speaking to one another. It's as if he knows that its inappropriate for us to be conversing like equals and so the walk is only punctuated by the sound of our shoes on the wooden steps.

I cross the threshold of the second landing, guiding him wordlessly towards the long hallway and taking a quick left. He keeps up with me easily, his long legs able to overtake my short strides any day. It can be quite confusing travelling around Briarcliff and I don't blame him for getting lost on his second day. I got lost the entire first week I was here. I wonder idly how long he was here for yesterday.Doris would be sure to keep that information for herself.

Finally we came to the double doors of the common room and I motioned towards it.

"Here we are."

"Excellent," Doctor Thredson replies evenly, his hand raising to press on the door and go in. I feel a desperate fear clutch my heart and I move to stop him, my hand gently touching the arm of his blazer. He stills, turning to me in surprise as I drop my hand to my side. I've never touched a man like that and I realise it was wrong to do so.

"Doctor," I say in a meek voice with my eyes downcast on the floor. "I know this is completely inappropriate, but I beg of you. Please don't tell anyone about the book I was reading. I would be in so much trouble should anyone find out."

I don't know why but I feel I can ask these thing of Doctor Thredson. He doesn't seem cruel and cold like so many who have been here before. I never would have asked this same favor of Doctor Arden but with this Thredson I felt there was a large part of humanity within him that other's lack. He seems kind and open. When I'd gathered enough courage I looked back up at him to see that same familiar inscrutable look on his face. Before I could do or say anything further he's bent forward until his mouth is at my ear, his cheek inches from my own.

"It'll be our secret," he says lowly, his hot breath huffing against my ear before leaving through quickly through the double doors.

I stand in the now empty hallway a moment in shock before I am brought back to reality. I head back to my room and hurriedly write down the morning's events before I forget them. Each moment today has seemed so different from my every day that I felt compelled to commit it to writing.

But now I have to rush back to finish my library duty before Sister Jude finds out I've left. I will write more later tonight if I have time.

\- Frances


	6. Friday October 30th, 1964- Evening

Friday October 30th, 1964- Evening

Diary, I am afraid I was busy all afternoon and evening and it was a horrible end to a most distressing day. It’s quite late as I write down these feverish thoughts and even though my eyes are heavy with fatigue, I feel I must keep in with my tradition of writing in you before bed. 

This afternoon went by in a blur. I had much to do in the ways of cleaning and clearing items. My thoughts had been on what needed to be completed. Sister Jude seemed in a foul mood these days and I didn’t want to cross her. 

However it seems the best laid plans…

Spivey came over to me as I was mopping the floors of the common room after supper. His stink was the firm indicator he was drawing near. All of the patients knew me here; they were familiar with all us novices. 

Sister Doris smirked over at me as she continued to play chess with Maria, one of the quieter patients. She loved to lord over me the fact that she got one of the best jobs at the Asylum (Socializing) and I, the worst (Handyman). However I enjoyed my solitary activities. I only wish she wasn’t the nun I was stuck with during certain shifts. 

There is a rule that there is always to be two nuns in the room with patients at all times. This is done for our protection should the orderlies be called away for an emergency.

Which is exactly what happened this evening. There was a commotion in the female hall of the asylum and the orderlies were suddenly gone leaving Doris and I as the only authoritative figures. Because of this there was a tonal shift in the room. The realization that there were less eyes on them. I suppose this is what motivated Spivey to approach me that evening. 

“Hello Sister Frances,” he offered as he licked his lips suggestively. I tried to contain my disgust at this action. 

“Hello Spivey,” I replied coolly, my eyes on the mop and my task at hand. 

_Remember they are all God’s children._

I had no problem with compassion for most of the inmates here at Briarcliff. But certain individuals really upset me. Especially ones that had the rumor of   
taking to younger individuals. But there was no proof and I was never to let my distaste get the better of me. That was a sin. The taste of sister Jude’s paddle on my bare skin last month was still fresh and I had no desire to repeat it. 

“You look delicious this evening,” he rasped in my direction, his hand slipping down the front of his pants and coming to cup the bulge between his legs. 

“How’s about you drop that mop and I let you wrap your hands around something worthwhile.”

I felt a wave of disgust wash over me at this motion and his words. He was such a despicable cretin and I felt a flush of anger take me over. I stood up straight, fixing him with a most intense and darkened gaze. Spivey’s disgusting smirk faltered a bit, as I very rarely ever spoke to him. 

“I don’t think I’m your type,” I replied quietly through gritted teeth, my eyes shooting daggers into his. He smirked a bit, intrigued and cocking his head as he waited for me to continue. 

I heard a suppressed giggle and my eyes took in Sister Doris was watching us now, her eyes narrowed in interest and alight with amusement as she listened to our altercation.

Spivey took a step closer to me, causing me to grip the mop handle tightly in my hand. He wasn’t a huge man, but he most assuredly outweighed me. 

“Oh yeah? What’s that supposed to mean?”

His voice was loud and confrontational. I could feel the eyes of the residents on me. Even the Dominique record that played constantly seemed quieter. Pepper was staring with quiet interest in what would happen next, her hands wringing together worriedly. Doris hadn’t moved, hadn’t even bothered to check that I was safe as we are trained to do. 

My eyes slid from the residents back into the grimy face of Spivey. I knew I should hold my tongue. I knew I should ignore him and get back to my work. But already the angry flush was creeping up my neck and staining my cheeks. 

“From what I heard you prefer them younger,” I retorted, my voice a low growl.

My words hung in the quiet room as Spivey’s entire countenance changed, his eyes growing steely and his hands clenching at his sides. 

“What’d you just say, bitch?”

I felt my heart hammer in my chest. There was a reason I didn’t speak to certain individuals in the common room. They were unpredictable and my tongue often got the better of me when I couldn’t control my temper. 

The residents, as if sensing what was about to happen next, started to act out. Pepper began dancing, Maria began moaning and covering her face. Several of the immobile residents began to squawk loudly, banging their hands on their chairs. I felt my stomach drop as Spivey closed the space between us.   
His hand was on the mop, trying to take it from me.

“Let go,” I swallowed, trying to keep my grip on the mop handle. “Let go or I’ll call for the orderlies!”

Spivey’s face was close to mind, so close I could see the discoloration on his teeth, his smile twisted. 

“By the time they get here I’ll be done with you. I don’t mind a bit ‘a time in the hole for it.”

I felt the cold hand of fear come to grip me then, my eyes widened in fear. Where was Doris? She was to get the orderlies wasn’t she? But no, she had stood and was standing to the side of the room, watching us, her face unreadable. 

I fought a good fight, but it was only seconds before Spivey had pulled the mop from my grip. With a victorious look he pushed me by my shoulder onto the cold ground. The uproar of the residents grew louder and I could only look up helplessly as Spivey looked down at me with a sardonic look.

“Don’t do this!” I cried out fruitlessly, holding a hand out in desperation. “There is good in you!”

“You’re wrong about that,” Spivey spat out raising the mop above his head dramatically and looking down at me. 

I turned my head, closing my eyes tightly and raising a hand in front bracing for the pain of the mop connecting with my body. The sounds of the residents screaming and causing chaos were suddenly deadened as footsteps drew over to us. 

“I hardly think that’s necessary,” came a low voice from behind me. I felt my eyes dart open as I glanced behind me to see Dr. Thredson standing behind me, his eyes fixed on Spivey I front of me. I was stuck between them and I subconsciously moved backwards into the doctor’s legs. 

“Who the hell are you?” Spivey asked with a lopsided smile, slowly lowering the mop. “Some kinda whoopsie?”

“No,” Dr. Thredson replied casually, “I’m Dr. Thredson, a court appointed psychiatrist. A man who can make sure that you never see the light of day again. Locked up for the rest of your life with no privileges. I can arrange it so that you never see the light of day again. No more common room, no wandering the halls without supervision. You’ll be stuck in solitary for the rest of your life.”

The room had grown quiet once more as the residents looked to Spivey in interest. 

“You can’t do that,” Spivey said boldly, though his eyes gave away his uncertainty. 

“Is that a chance you’re willing to take?” Dr. Thredson replied evenly. 

Spivey stared at him a moment before he dropped the mop to his side. It clattered loudly on the floor beside him. He glanced over at me and spat in my direction, murmuring something about me watching my back. My heart was still racing and I sat still on the floor, my back against the good Doctor’s legs. 

“Oh sister Frances!” Doris came rushing over, her eyes full of false sympathy. She looked to Dr. Thredson with eyes full of tenderness she reserved only for those who could help her ascension at Briarcliff. I glanced up from my spot on the floor to see her grip his hands tightly in her own. 

“Thank you Doctor for your kindness! I was so scared!”

The Doctor’s face was stoic, smoothly pulling his hands from her grip.

“I think it would be prudent for you to retrieve the orderlies,” he replied coolly. “There needs to be some semblance of control here.”

Sister Doris faltered a bit, her smile faint as she rushed from the room, her habit billowing behind her. The residents, now bored went back to what they   
were doing before as the sound of Dominique invaded all our senses.

I suddenly felt very stupid sitting there on the floor and made a move to get up when Dr. Thredson’s hand came into view. It was pale and large with long, slender fingers. I gripped it tightly as he helped me stand, surprised at the warmth of his skin. 

“Thank you Doctor,” I whispered, embarrassed at having to be rescued by a man who only seemed to see me at my worst. 

“No thanks required, Sister Frances.”

"It seems you're always seeing me at my worst," I said, giving a half-hearted chuckle. 

He gave me a wan smile, his face giving nothing away as he stared at me, taking in my face inch-by-inch. I felt a flush creeping up my neck and found I couldn’t look him in the eyes any longer. 

We were so close and I found my hand was still in his, the doctor’s fingertips absently dancing over my knuckles slowly. As if he realized this at the same time, he quickly dropped my hand and took a step back. 

“I should have him sent to the hole nonetheless,” Thredson said quietly. “He’s obviously a danger to everyone here.”

“It was my fault,” I replied, embarrassed as I stared at the floor as if I were a chastised child. “I provoked him. He can’t control himself; that’s why he’s here. It’s my responsibility to show compassion and I failed.”

“But, he would have seriously harmed you,” Thredson replied, his voice almost confused. “Even as a psychiatrist I can observe when individuals are a danger to others.”

“They are all God’s children,” I replied, my eyes still on the floor. “No matter what they deserve our love and compassion.”

“Do you honestly believe that?”

I raised my head at his question, his thick brows furrowed in interest at my reply. I answered as honestly as I could manage.

“Yes Doctor. I was raised to have compassion for all. Even those that society shuns. I like to think of them all as God’s children and I’m simply here to care for them. Like a patient mother would. ”

Dr. Thredson regarded me a moment, his full mouth slowly curling at the edges as he glanced me over. 

“It’s rare to find that nowadays,” he said quietly, his eyes almost appearing to soften. 

“This is why I’m ashamed of my behavior this evening,” I continued, feeling embarrassed as he looked at me. “I should have shown more compassion for Spivey. Many of these individuals have come from broken homes. Many of them have been infected by Satan. He makes them hear voices, do terrible things.   
How can we hate them for that which they cannot control?”

“You believe mental illness to be from Satan?” Dr. Thredson looked almost amused at me and I felt my irritation creeping in. He wasn’t the first man of   
Science to openly mock my religious devotion and he certainly wouldn’t be the last. 

“I do,” I replied primly. 

“You don’t think it a creation of man?” 

“Only Satan can create something like that. No mortal man.”  
+  
“Or your God,” Thredson replied, almost playfully looking to me. “Did he not create the devil? Why then he surely created evil and in turn created mental illness.”

I wanted to reply, but I could see the way he was enjoying this. The way most men of science enjoyed mocking me when I went to the grocery store or the movies on my day’s off. The way the world seemed to enjoy making fun of those who would find the good in it.

“You mean to bait me,” I replied, my teeth grinding together. “You mock my beliefs.”

“Not at all-“ Doctor Thredson tried to interject, the smile dropping from his full mouth. 

“I know when I’m being mocked,” I said quickly, my hands clenched at my sides. “Goodnight Doctor.”

As I strode from him Doris and the orderlies re-entered the room. She sneered at me as I rushed from the room, my cheeks red with fury and determined to never interact with the smug and haughty Doctor Thredson ever again. 

And now I hurriedly write in you Diary. I'm so upset by tonight's events I can barely believe it. What arrogance of him! Even though he aided me tonight I am still so upset at his blasphemy. 

I don’t believe I will be able to sleep tonight. 

Goodnight diary.


End file.
